


Rotten Work

by caviluxx



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Spies No Acting (to an extent), Alternate Universe - Thieves, Blackmail, Codependency, Gen, Introspection, M/M, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn, be gay do crimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28932573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caviluxx/pseuds/caviluxx
Summary: He never thought of Misha as the type of person to get into any trouble. The man ran a confectionary store and lied to children about the special magic of candy wrappers for crying out loud.When his caretaker is murdered in cold blood, Hisoka gets blackmailed into a life of crime.The HisoHoma Thief AU.
Relationships: Arisugawa Homare/Mikage Hisoka, Mikage Hisoka & Utsuki Chikage, Mikage Hisoka/Yukishiro Azuma
Comments: 15
Kudos: 41





	1. Prologue: Happy Birthday, Hisoka.

**Author's Note:**

> *lights a torch and drops it into a puddle of gasoline strangely shaped into the words: im sorry*

It’s Hisoka’s 24th birthday when his life gets royally fucked over. 

It’s always been an established fact to everyone that Hisoka cares for maybe three things in his life: marshmallows, sleep, and his family. Although his memory’s become poor and muddied through time and trauma, the dreaded night of December 3rd will always ring clear among the haze of his mind. The call from Misha that rang during his nap was already a red flag of the disasters to come because Misha, that busy-body, took up memorizing Hisoka’s bizarre, narcolepsy-influenced sleep schedule _(so that he can make sure to never disturb Hisoka when he was resting because god forbid Hisoka miss out on his 18 hours of sleep)._

Misha’s strong, yet gentle voice coming out as weak, raspy, and so very desperate on the other end was a-kin to a splash of cold water to Hisoka’s face, jolting him awake from his favored spot to sleep on the floor. With the cold sweat he felt running down his face as Misha heaves out a plea for him to rush to his location to retrieve an object before it was “too late”, it was almost as if that were true.

With no license, no car, and no Chikage—because of course, everything decides to go to hell the week Chikage is sent out overseas for a business trip—Hisoka is only left to run, run, and run, with only a GPS as a guide. Only hoping he can make it in time for whatever it was Misha needed.

He never thought of Misha as the type of person to get into any trouble. The man ran a candy store and lied to children about the _special magic of chocolate wrappers_ just to make them feel special. He even still paid Hisoka for manning the cash register when all he ever did was sleep, leave his drool to dry on the counter, and eat their own products, further diminishing their profit margins. If any one of them were to involve themselves with… possibly illegal activities… he always thought it would be Chikage who, just a week ago, forged himself a passport with that smile-and-blink that said _don’t worry about it._

What he wasn’t prepared for when he reached Misha’s location—an abandoned building on an ocean cliffside—were the catastrophic events following his entrance: a knife thrown straight at him, Misha taking the shot, Misha bleeding, Misha collapsing, and finally, getting thrown into the ocean with only one word from his precious family.

“Live…” 

That simple command, said with what was probably his last breath of life as he doubles over to the ground, clutching his wound. Which would frankly be the cherry on top of the nightmares that will forever plague Hisoka in his sleep. His 18 fucking hours of sleep. All this under the silver glint of the moon. 

So when he washes up on the shore, body drenched with not only seawater, but also _Misha’s_ _blood_ , he has quite the story to attempt to explain to the nighttime lifeguard. Who immediately turns him in to the police, where he is rapidly interrogated with questions he does not know the answers to because what the FUCK was that, _who_ the fuck was that, and why the fuck was that. No, he doesn’t know who those people were, nor does he know why Misha was there in the first place. Hell, he never even retrieved the object Misha was ready to die for. 

Happy birthday, Hisoka. 

\--------

The little light that could be found in Chikage’s eyes must have vanished with Misha, because when he arrives at the police station to pick Hisoka up right after a 6-hour flight, suit disheveled and hair falling into all the wrong places, Hisoka could no longer peek at the window to Chikage’s soul. 

Hisoka knows that something inside the both of them died alongside Misha. 

Quiet was Chikage when the police explained Hisoka’s situation to him—a witness to a homicide of a man who was not even in the police records. Quiet were the both of them during the car ride back to what had been their shared home with Misha. Even though not a sound could be heard besides the car engine and the nightlife beyond the windows, the sound of the single gunshot that took the life of his precious family was all that was ringing in Hisoka’s ears, so loudly it was deafening. Make it stop, make it stop, mAKE IT STOP—

The car stopped, they arrived at what is now their shell of a home. Chikage was the first to speak, cutting right through the amplified screams in Hisoka’s ears. 

“I want to hear what happened. I will administer justice after that.”

At this very moment, Hisoka was well aware that the crime was not his, but it sure felt like it. Any form of justice Chikage wanted to deal upon him felt reasonable. “You already heard what happened.”

“I want to hear it. From you.”

“Fine,” the younger continued, “Misha… he called me, asking—no, pleading for me to come to a location to retrieve something from him. He- he never specified what it was. He sounded so, so weak.”

The look he got from Chikage urged him to proceed with his retelling of the night’s events. 

“I just ran until I got there. When I finally got to Misha’s location it happened so fast. I must have been surrounded because I heard gunshots. A knife was thrown at me in the turmoil and then Misha… he—Chikage he ran in front of me. It struck Misha. I lent my shoulder because he collapsed. I tried to run away, but we were cornered against a cliffside over the ocean. And then Misha pushed me into the ocean. Only telling me to _live_. The moon was there, I remember the moon. And then, I washed up to the shore. That’s… all I can recall”.

“...I believe you,” Chikage says at last, “or at least a large part of me wants to believe you. I’m going to be honest with you, Hisoka. When I got the message of Misha’s death and heard of your involvement, throughout my plane ride, I couldn’t think of anything else but hurting you.”

How… _strained_ his relationship with Chikage is was always something he pushed into the back of his head. Hisoka was just some random, orphaned kid who Misha just happened to pity enough to invite into his and Chikage’s home, and later, their peaceful life together. He was a ripple, causing waves in waters so serene with how high maintenance he ended up being. His horrid diet and botched sleeping schedule lended to his pathetic, weakened physical state, which Misha poured so much of his attention into trying to alleviate because _he’s Misha_ —a stupid man with a pure heart of gold who was the glue to this play family that he and Chikage were a part of. And now, with his passing away, Hisoka cannot help but think that the wrinkles in his relationship with Chikage will never be completely smoothed, and will probably stay that way for a long time. 

Not knowing what to say, Hisoka instinctively hugs his knees to his chest and turns his head to stare at the driveway. A simple signal to Chikage to show that he acknowledges what he just said and is letting him continue.

“...But you’re my precious family, too, Hisoka,” Chikage breathes with a shake, eyes downcast. “I don’t know where I would be had I lost the both of you. Though a part of me still craves vengeance, wants to hurt someone as much as we were hurt tonight.” He grips harder on the steering wheel. The car is parked—they’re not going anywhere—but Hisoka assumes this action must be the only thing grounding him to the reality of a life without Misha. It’s just the two of them now. Although Hisoka can’t peer through the windows of Chikage’s soul, the clouds of fog covering his glasses are a sure-fire sign that he is hurting too. “He was so important to me. In truth, I always knew a day like this would come. A day he would go to a place where we can’t follow…”

Hisoka’s head snaps a perfect 90-degree angle to face his companion, “Chikage, what do you know?”

Chikage doesn’t seem to care about the bomb he just dropped on Hisoka, because he lets go of the wheel and opens the door to his left to leave the car. And although Hisoka has no place to berate Chikage for doing so, he can’t help the frustration that arises when Chikage retreats back into avoiding any situation that involves emotional confrontation with him.

“Chikage!” 

“Hisoka. Not now. Let’s just go inside, I’m sure you’re exhausted.“ _Because of course, Chikage would never admit his own exhaustion to himself._ The green-haired man, car key in hand, turns around—not to give Hisoka any acknowledgement (probably), but to make sure the headlights flash when he locks the car after Hisoka steps out—and then turns away again to head for the front door the second he hears the car beep.

Urging Chikage to speak would be as fruitful as trying to make himself eat spicy food—Hisoka knows that much. To put some space between them, the narcoleptic stays behind to briefly gaze at his reflection in the mirror, and absolutely _not_ the blood that stains his clothing with a stench that lingers in the air: the painful reminder that he’s failed in every aspect to protect one of the two people he’s ever cared for. He’s absolutely not thinking about how he will have to dispose of these clothes, dispose of what may be one of the last fragments he’ll ever have of Mish—

 _Anyway_. 

Two mismatched eyes stare back at him, and although his right eye has been useless to him for some time now, it seems to still have _one_ function because he can see a small trail of water running down his right cheek. He opts to move his fringe to cover that eye again.

Stretching his limbs as he trudges his way to the front, he spots Chikage, frozen in place at the front door, head low and shoulders stiff. Chikage has always been the taller of the two, but now, Hisoka notes just how small the green-haired man looks. 

To not abruptly disturb Chikage from the peculiar trance he’s in, Hisoka approaches slowly, pausing once he notices the paper Chikage seems to have a death grip on in his hands.

“...Chikage, what’s that?”

“It’s a matter for me to take care of.”

Chikage’s shaking, trembling even. This raises concern for Hisoka because Chikage has always been excellent at suppressing any and all emotions. For him to show his first blatant sign of fear, after all of today’s events, was… disturbing. 

In the past, Hisoka would resign himself to the fact he was not going to make Chikage talk, but things have changed. Misha is gone, meaning they can’t rely on him anymore to be the mediator between the two of them. _One_ of them has to take the initiative to mend their strained relationship and actually learn to communicate their feelings. Admitting out loud that Hisoka was a precious person to him must have put Chikage at his Emotional Vulnerability Limit of the day, so Hisoka begrudgingly decides it’s _his_ turn to be vulnerable. Which was annoying, really.

“Chikage. You’re full of shit.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“You’re full of shit. Loaded. Filled to the brim.” 

Hisoka quickly realizes he’s not very good at the whole Being Vulnerable thing. Deep breaths, Hisoka, you’re 24 now. 

“You take up every task for yourself and then turn around and call me a lazy sleepyhead for not doing anything. Chikage, you don’t _let_ me do anything. You’re stubborn. Freakishly independent—maybe even more so now because the only person you ever let yourself depend on is gone.”

He’s tired. Hisoka is so tired. He didn’t get any sleep at the police station and probably won’t be getting any this whole month. He’s said more words these past 10 minutes than he has over the past 10 days. But he continues anyway. Because even though he is certain Chikage can read minds, he wants to verbally express his thoughts to at least lift _one_ weight from his shoulders tonight. 

“Misha granted me this life and I want to cherish it. I want to help you with whatever’s bothering you because… you’re my precious family too. You mentioned you craved vengeance, but I’m sure that’s not it. I think right now, you’re too occupied with protecting what little Misha has left behind—and that’s me, isn’t it? We’re similar in that sense because… I feel the same. We were both raised by him, you’re… my brother, Chikage. So let me protect you as well.” 

Tired. He’s so tired. He’s not good at this, and Hisoka’s certain that he too was well past his own Emotional Vulnerability Limit of the day. Chikage, please, take him out of his misery and just say something—

“...Gross.” 

_Would it be a crime to uppercut Chikage’s jaw right now_ , Hisoka idly wonders. Alas, the man thrusts the piece of paper in his face before he can act. 

“I’m not like you, but I suppose this matter involves you as well.” 

\--------

_ Hisoka Mikage and Chikage Utsuki _

_ I know of the crimes you have not committed. However, it’s your misfortune that your lives have been entangled with August’s.  _

_ August was a traitor to our organization. We live and die for this organization, and that is why his life was taken tonight.  _

_ Normally, because of your association with him, your lives would be taken as well. But I am an opportunistic man and I see many opportunities with your circumstances.  _

_ If you wish for your lives to not be destroyed, Mikage must perform a series of jewelry heists for the organization. Utsuki is to not be physically present at any of the heists. The heists will continue until all of August’s debts are repaid. _

_ We have incriminating evidence to pin Mikage as August’s murderer. If a heist is neither completed nor successful within 5 days after its notice, we will turn Mikage in to the police.  _

_ Because I am generous, if all heists are successful I will return the parcel August meant to deliver to you both. _

_ Detailed below is the first target piece of jewelry, as well as the location of where to leave it once it has been obtained. If completed, we will assume you agree to this letter’s contents. _

_ Expect to hear from me soon.  _

_ SEVEN _

\--------

Compared to Chikage’s initial reaction to the letter, Hisoka is… relatively calm in comparison. Who would’ve thought that witnessing the death of your caretaker could make you so jaded that your first reaction is _....jack shit_ to a death threat and life in prison. He chooses to ignore the voice in his head that tells him he deserves whatever kind of harm this Seven person wants to deal upon him. But he doesn’t think Chikage deserves such. 

“Hisoka. What evidence do they have against you. Tell me once more what happened.”

He hates repeating himself, it’s exhausting and he wishes Chikage just listened the first—no, the second time around. He doesn’t exactly want to use his few waking hours repeatedly recalling today’s events; he’ll do plenty of that when he’s asleep. He’s sure of that. But he does so anyway because Chikage asked him not-so-nicely. 

Hisoka has never done a single math problem in his life, but he feels like various formulas and equations are revolving around his head right now. When he arrived at the location, he couldn’t see anyone, so he went inside the building and found Misha. There was a commotion, he thinks they were surrounded… there were some gunshots, a knife was thrown at him...

...and then Misha pushed him aside to take the shot. He grabbed the knife to release it from Misha’s body and— _FUCK_. HE TOUCHED THE KNIFE—

“I touched the knife.”

The dots seem to connect in Chikage’s head as his face cycles through all five stages of grief in a matter of seconds. Mostly anger, but it finally lands on acceptance. “You… touched. The knife.”

“...Yeah.” 

Reality dawns upon the two once more as they lapse into silence, letting the flickering noise of a lightbulb that desperately needs to be replaced fill the space. 

“...Misha… is August?” Hisoka starts cautiously. “Is that what you meant earlier?” 

Chikage grimaces, clenches his fists, and ignores his question to get straight to the point. “A month ago, I dug through Misha’s file cabinet.”

“You went through his file cabinet.” He spares a second to remember all the times Misha quickly pulled out a bag of marshmallows to distract him any time he so much as mentioned it.

“He was sneaking out every night and was dodging all my questions.” Is Chikage… _embarrassed?_ Under entirely different circumstances, Hisoka would’ve been smiling. “Despite my efforts, I still don’t know much. I only know he was a part of a dangerous group… if I had to guess, the candy store was a cover-up job.”

Chikage pauses briefly to let Hisoka digest the new information, to which the latter could only comment, “Oh. It was a delicious one.”

Maybe he said that in an attempt to lighten the mood, but Chikage just looks more pained. “You two… always loved those sweet snacks.”

Despite Chikage’s tense reaction, Hisoka continues anyway just to revel in the memories of days long passed. “Misha bought snacks for you too, Chikage.”

“Yeah, peculiar snacks that tasted like something spicy wrapped in something sweet. I kept telling him I didn’t want to eat anything that wasn’t spicy, but he....”

“...said part of it was spicy, so…”

They look away from each other simultaneously. Although they had both opened up _way_ more parts of themselves to the other than they would have liked, Hisoka is learning to respect Chikage. So when the light of the just-barely-hanging-in-there lightbulb is reflected in the corner of Chikage’s eyes, Hisoka stares at the floor to allow just a little bit of Chikage’s dignity to stay intact tonight. 

One beat…

Two beats…

“I think we should do it… follow along with the heists,” Hisoka murmurs, eyes focused on a pill bug emerging from a crack in the pavement. “I don’t think we have much of a choice, anyway.” 

“You’re right.” His companion takes a deep breath and adjusts his glasses to recollect himself. “I’ll look into the first piece of jewelry and come up with an approach.”

Chikage uncharacteristically hesitates before continuing. “...We’ll finish this. We’ll get that parcel.”

This will be their first time working on anything together that’s _not_ making gingerbread. Misha would have been proud of them. 

“That’s the plan, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for making it this far and thank you for giving this a chance! 
> 
> this is like. my first fic ever so uh. why is it 10k words of ongoing thief brainrot? (i don't know i don't know please help me EIHIUCNQO). hope it’s ok ??
> 
> the pill bug emerging from the crack at the end is supposed to symbolize chikage and hisoka finally opening up to each other
> 
> some of the dialogue said in this chapter is rather personal to me because they are words i would tell to my sister. juno, it's okay to depend on someone every now and then. i know you're going to read this so i want you to know im always here for you
> 
> "is the title of this from pyl-" Yes. so surely, you know where this is going. 
> 
> the next chapter is already completed, expect it soon! next time: hisoka teaches kids math. oh, and he visits an art exhibit


	2. Exhaustive Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very special thanks to [bel](https://twitter.com/gaihiso) for looking this over and helping me refine my characterization along the way! :D

Flashing forward, Hisoka is now 25 and his life is still royally fucked.

All things considered, he thinks he’s been doing a decent job since the media headlines covering his thefts have only suspected him to be “probably short”. And according to Chikage, they gave him the lazy name of  _ December _ . Not because they found out he was born in December or anything, they just gave him that name because his first string of heists happened to be during that month. 

Hisoka has Chikage to thank for all their successes. Via earpiece, he guides him throughout all the heists to make sure they always end in success. Though, he can live without Chikage shouting in the earpiece all the time.  _ LEFT, HISOKA. I SAID LEFT. DID MISHA NOT TEACH YOU HOW TO TELL LEFT FROM RIGHT. He did, I just didn’t care enough to remember. HOLD YOUR HANDS OUT AND FORM THE LETTER ‘L’ WITH YOUR FING—  _

Terrible circumstances aside, being a thief has also opened the door to many life improvements for Hisoka. 

For starters, after  _ many _ close calls from his lack of exercise and over-abundance of sleep, he now has a (previously Chikage-funded, now Azuma-funded) gym membership card. And instead of 18 hours of sleep a day, he gets  _ 16 _ hours. No changes have been made to his diet, however, because time and time again, he affirms he would  _ quite literally die without marshmallows. Okay, die then, Chikage deadpans while offering him a marshmallow with a surgeon-glove covered hand after a particular job well-done. _

Since joining the criminal world, he’s improvised. Adapted. Overcome. Dreamed Big. Listen has the same letters as Silent. And whatever else the posters say in the library of the school he helps Tsumugi tutor at on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays—Wait. Thursday. 

That’s today. 

“Fufu, you wear the cutest expression when you sleep,” Azuma, his penthousemate-turned-boyfriend chuckles as he cards a hand through his fringe. “But you might want to wake up now, darling, or you’ll leave poor Tsumugi by himself for the second time this week.”

Hisoka opens one eye and considers his options. He could mentally say sorry _ (again) _ to Tsumugi and spend the afternoon cuddling with Azuma, who really is the best pillow he can ask for—This is the favorable option. 

But there’s also the morally right option to consider: He could get up and tiredly drag himself to St. Flora to help Tsumugi with the children. And he knows that Tsumugi knows his presence is definitely not vital for a fulfilling tutoring session. Why? Because the library has those really comfy sofa chairs with the built-in desks that swivel, which are perfectly adjustable for Hisoka’s enjoyment. That enjoyment being resting his arm on the desk and then resting his head on his arm and then resting his eyes—

Needless to say, Hisoka contributes next to nothing when tutoring. 

But Chikage insisted he get a job to not only stop leeching off Azuma (who never actually minded), but also because  _ something something it averts suspicion and something something it gives him a background… _ or something. _ _ So when he asked Azuma about job opportunities that require no degree, no background checks, and no prior experience, well. 

At first, he was met with a very troubled look from Azuma that had the undertone of years’ worth of pain and loneliness and  _ okay I regret asking, forget about it. Chikage’s full of shit anyway— _

Thankfully, that look only lasted for a second (though even if it had lasted longer, Hisoka still wouldn’t have remembered to ask him about it later) before Azuma shakes his head, smiles, and briefly recalls his friend’s friend needing assistance with tutoring some middle-schoolers. 

So here he is now, leaving one of the warmest beds he’s ever known to head to the kitchen, open the pantry, and grab a pack of marshmallows to fuel the nap he’s sure to take at the library. 

“Are those the raspberry-jelly filled ones? An excellent choice, my dear,” Azuma smiled from the kitchen doorway. “Ah… I have a favor to ask of you if you don’t mind.”

He swallows his marshmallow before speaking, “—mm. What is it?”

“You remember my friend who’s friends with Tsumugi, don’t you? Tasuku? I think you met when we were at that bar on Veludo Way.” 

He doesn’t remember but nods anyway. Azuma smiles knowingly and hands him a colorful pamphlet. “He’s helping set up an art exhibit at the new museum that opened on the same street as St. Flora, Pirmais is its name. I was supposed to go see the exhibit today, but one of my clients booked a session with me at the last minute. Would you mind going in my place? Say hi to him for me?”

Hisoka’s going to be honest: an art museum is the last place he would want to be at. He’s been to one  _ once _ with Azuma. His companion aside, it wasn’t the best experience. (Those were art pieces…? Not chairs…?) He doesn’t want to say no to Azuma, though. He examines the pamphlet to find the timeframe for the exhibit. 3:45 to 5:45, yeah he can make it. 

“Mm, yeah sure. I don’t mind.” He mastered the art of sleep-standing anyway, it’s no big deal. 

“Lovely. Thank you, darling,” Azuma smiles at him gently before leaning down to plant a chaste kiss on his cheek. 

Even after a few months of dating, Hisoka’s still not used to physical affection. He brings his hand up to rest his fingers on the place Azuma kissed him and answers a question he knows Azuma will ask before he even has the chance to say it. “I’ll be here by the time you’re done with your appointment.” 

Azuma offers him an impossibly beautiful smile. “Thank you… I’ll see you when I get back then. Oh, my dear, you might want to change out of your pajamas if you’re going to the exhibit once you’re done at St. Flora,” he chuckles.

Hisoka looks down at his silk pajamas and purple penguin house slippers. Huh. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with his current outfit, but he follows along anyway. “Yeah. Okay.”

Throwing on the first oversized sweater and pair of jeans he sees on the clean pile, he’s ready. Oh, but wait… there’s the matter of… the shoes.

It seems today is a special occasion, so his usual Crocs and Birkenstocks will have to wait for another time. He reaches for the 5th pair of Vans slip-ons that Azuma had gifted him. Hm. Azuma has gifted him a lot of pairs of shoes even though he’s insisted  _ the Crocs and Birkenstocks are enough. Fufu, is that so?  _

“I’m leaving. I’ll see you tonight,” he says with a small wave. 

Azuma is already waiting by the front door to see him off. “I have your phone here. You almost forgot it again,” he chuckles, “last time you forgot it, your phone blew up with over 20 notifications. I think they were all from Chicago…?”

_ Ah, right.  _ He never bothered to change his phone’s autocorrecting of “Chikage” to “Chicago”. He’ll do that soon. 

“Thanks,” he offers with a small smile. Azuma was kind enough to also include his wireless earbuds, so he takes them out of their case and puts them in his ears, “Later.”

After catching an airborne kiss from Azuma, he’s off. 

\--------

Hisoka’s barely through the doors of St. Flora when one of his students, Muku, excitedly rushes to greet him. 

“Ah, Hisoka! We missed you on Wednesday!”

He takes a moment to remove his earbuds and swallow a marshmallow in his mouth before replying, “-m. I missed you too. I also have something to show you.” 

“Oh, were you listening to music? What were you listening to?”

Hisoka looks down at his phone and squints at the title, “The song is called… ‘My World is Crumbling All Around Me’ by One Day I’m Going to Prison.” He shrugs and opens his phone to tap  _ Photos _ , “It’s a band. I came across a cat on my way. Here, I took a photo.” 

Muku beams when he lays eyes on the white-grey cat who’s just a little pudgy around the edges. “Wow! They’re adorable! Can you send this picture to me later? ...A-and I’ll be sure to check out that band sometime! But w-we should probably head over to the table—”

From his peripheral vision, Hisoka spots a rather colorful trio. An orange-haired teen who looks a little too old to be a middle schooler (Hisoka won’t comment on this though because he doesn’t know better) stands arms crossed to the side as Tsumugi explains a concept to Yuki, who is one of their regulars along with Muku. 

“The psycho sleeper actually makes a point to show up today? You’re 15 minutes late, you know. Your sofa chair’s been collecting dust,” Yuki comments flatly. 

“Ah, Yuki…” Tsumugi turns his head to give Hisoka an apologetic smile. Tsumugi’s always doing his best. He’s a nice guy. “It’s good to see you. We have someone new here with us—he doesn’t go to this school, actually. How about you introduce yourself to him?”

_ Darn. That sofa chair looked so comfy too.  _ Hisoka cranes his head slightly to meet eyes with the orange-haired teen. The new generations have become… really tall. 

“...Mikage Hisoka.” 

They’re all looking at him expectantly. Is he supposed to say more? He strains his limited brain cells to recall whatever Misha said whenever he introduced him to their customers at the candy shop. “...he really recommends the marshmallows.” 

Um.

Wait, Misha said that about him, so he should’ve—he’s too tired to correct himself, so he proceeds with the next best conversation starter.

“How are you.”

“Fine. I’m… fine” the teen grunts, “...Tenma Sumeragi. Surely, you already know me?”

“He’s an actor in some of those TV shows I mentioned to you before! He’s got 15 years of experience in—” Muku chirps before the reality of what he’s done settles in. 3… 2… 1… “Aaah-! I-I’m sorry. I interrupted. Ignore me, I’m just the s-sad, shriveled-up pickle in the queasy one dollar h-hamburger you buy… that you take up to the cashier because you didn’t even ask for pickles, and then the employee has to throw away the burger, thus throwing away the pickle to prepare you a new hamburger…”

Everyone in the room gives Muku the same concerned look that says  _ I need to work on this kid’s confidence. _

“Muku, no one said that,” everyone at the table choruses at the same time. 

“... and pickles add a really sour punch, that many people, including myself, like. You’re fine,” Tsumugi reassures, touching Muku’s shoulder to ground the soul that must have been leaving the poor boy’s body. He turns to Tenma. “I saw your last film when it was in theaters, Tenma. Your performance as Alibaba was quite extraordinary, especially since it was your first time starring in a comedy. There was one particular scene that really caught my attention. With the genie you—Ah, sorry! I was rambling.”

Yuki, who’s been quietly observing (correction: judging) the situation from his seat, finally decides to join in. “I saw that movie too. Useless actors aside...” Tenma opens his mouth to interject, but Yuki is faster. “...the costumes were nice.”

“Why would you watch a movie only to see the—”  _ Haaaah, mouths Yuki, readying himself for this new challenger— _

Muku, soul back in his body, interrupts again. This time, however, to save the day. “I saw Water Me as well! You were amazing, Tenma! Like a real prince… oh! And Tsumugi, I didn’t know you were so interested in film!”

Suddenly all the attention has shifted from Tenma to Tsumugi, and Tsumugi has to let his brain catch up. His face contorts to utter confusion, and then utter embarrassment as he lifts his arm to scratch his neck sheepishly. “Ah, it’s actually theatre that I’m interested in… I’ve only done amateur level theatre when I was in school, then took a break from it for a while. I’m a bit of a novice…”

Every person, including Hisoka (who admits he’s  _ not _ the best at reading situations), understands they must have touched a sensitive topic with Tsumugi. 

Hisoka moves from his place at the table and holds out his treasured raspberry-jelly-filled marshmallows to Tsumugi because  _ don’t worry there are still 16 left, this should be more than enough to get him through tutoring and the art exhibit without starving. _ Right. Okay. He has the luxury to give  _ one _ away. “You can have one.”

The significance of the gesture seems to hit Tsumugi because he gives Hisoka the warmest smile. “Thank you, I appreciate it,” he says, and takes one of the marshmallows. 

Hisoka is just about to finally sit down in his beloved sofa chair when Tenma speaks up.  _ Dammit. _ “I still haven’t made any progress on my homework… Just getting one or two pieces of advice would be a huge help.”

Tenma turns to Tsumugi. Tsumugi turns to Yuki because he still hasn’t finished explaining that one concept they had been working on when Hisoka entered the library. Yuki stares back at Tsumugi. Tsumugi turns to Hisoka. Hisoka defeatedly stands up from the sofa chair and sits next to Tenma, knees to his chest and feet on the chair. But no one is going to tell him he shouldn’t do that. 

After that display, the last strings of hope for getting good marks on his assignment must have been cut, because all Tenma does is sigh defeatedly.

“You know…” Yuki calls from his spot across the table with a  _ very _ condescending tone. “You should be more appreciative of the tutoring you’re getting since you were so embarrassed about joining the tutoring sessions with your own peers at Ouka High. So much so that you came across town to a middle school to make yourself feel b—”

“What’s the homework,” Hisoka interrupts. Tsumugi makes a silent prayer. Yuki has that grin that says he knows he’s won. 

The teen slides the accursed homework booklet to Hisoka. “It’s number twelve… you have a set number of yards of fencing to construct an enclosure with a center divide. It also states how many square yards of space the enclosure must contain… you have to find x? I-I have an idea of what I need to do; I just don’t know how to approach it,” Tenma huffs.

_ Oh. _ This is easy, Hisoka can do this. 

Grabbing the pencil from Tenma’s hand, Hisoka confidently circles the ‘x’ provided in the picture of the enclosure that the math problem provided as reference. “There.”

“There what.”

“The x. I found it,” and Hisoka has the audacity to smile, but really, it’s because he genuinely believes he cracked the code. Solved the problem. Made Tenma’s day. 

“How… where did you even go to school to learn to solve a problem like that?!”

“I never went to school,” Hisoka clarifies.

“Then how did you… how did you even get this job?” 

He hums, “Networking. I’ve been told it’s everything.”

\--------

The rest of the tutoring is very uneventful. Mainly because Hisoka fell asleep, but that’s good because it gave Tenma’s blood pressure time to go down. 

The group is just about done cleaning up the table when Muku awkwardly clears his throat. “Umm… Tsumugi. I hate to b-bring this up again, b-but… I’m in the theater club and we’re performing a play for the school festival that’s t-tomorrow and… one of our actors got sick. S-so if you wouldn’t mind filling in their role—!” he splutters, frantically tapping the ends of his two index fingers together. “Oh, but I totally understand if you wouldn’t want to act on stage with me. I’m just a no-good microwaved piece of soap that—”

“I’ll do it.” There’s a resolute confidence in Tsumugi’s eyes that he’s never seen before. “...I-if you’ll have an amateur like me, of course.” 

Tsumugi’s insecurities seem to get Muku out of the self-deprecating hole he had dug himself into. “O-of course! I can print you a copy of the script right now!” 

Not wanting to exclude anyone, Muku also makes a gesture to the rest of the group. “H-hisoka! Tenma! You’re invited to the festival to watch the play tomorrow, too! I-I’ll be acting in it, a-and Yuki sewed our costumes!”

Don’t tell anyone, but Muku is Hisoka’s favorite. After tutoring, they usually play and feed the cats together in the alleyways whenever there’s time. “Yeah, okay. I can come. Just text me the details.” 

“...I’ll consider it,” Tenma responds, but that answer seems to satisfy Muku because he beams just as brightly as he did to Hisoka’s response. It’s equivalent to the brightness of a thousand suns. 

Hisoka flips his phone in his hands to check the time. ...3:29. He should probably head to that art exhibit now. “Have to leave now. See you all.” 

With waves from Muku and Yuki, and a  _ good work today _ from Tsumugi, once again, he’s off.

\-----------

It’s when Hisoka’s standing in the center of a barrage of art enthusiasts that he realizes he doesn’t even know who he’s looking for.

**Hisoka 3:40PM**

_ What does tasuku look like _

**Azuma 3:42PM**

_ i checked and it seems i don’t have a photo… _

_ just try to find someone with big muscles and a poor sense of fashion, okay? _

_ i have to meet with my client now, i’ll see you later _

_ miss you <3 _

Hisoka groans internally. Outwardly, he slowly blinks. He was hoping to greet Tasuku and quickly scamper his way out because he would  _ reaaaally _ rather not stay for the whole exhibit. 

But life has never been kind to Hisoka.

He has… three minutes before the museum curator begins their presentation of the art pieces, so he takes the time to take in his surroundings. 

Most of his heists consist of breaking into high-end jewelry stores or the manors of the elite who can afford said jewelry. He’s never broken into an art museum, and probably will never, but for the sake of trying not to fall asleep (he wants to at least  _ try, _ so he has something to answer to Azuma’s inevitable  _ How was it? _ ), he allows his mind to wander. 

If this were his heist location, and say he had to...  _ steal that painting there, _ he imagines Chikage would guide him through the air vents of the building to make it to this room from the outside.  _ Because he found out last year that Chikage keeps his job at a trading company to maintain access to… lots of information that would probably be illegal for him to know otherwise. Hence why Chikage knows the layout of almost every building in Veludo City.  _

Afterward, Chikage would probably tell Hisoka to be on standby while he briefly disables the security cameras. Brief enough to not warrant  _ immediate _ suspicion from authorities, but just enough for Hisoka to book the fuck over to the painting, release it from its display on the wall, and find cover as the security cameras come back on. When Hisoka decides the coast is clear, he would probably enter the EMPLOYEES ONLY room and find an emergency exit from there. 

…but he’s on the second floor. Unfortunate, he’ll just have to jump out the window.

That oversimplified sequence of events seems to have filled enough time because the museum curator emerges from the adjacent hallway. 

It’s too bad, really, that narcolepsy holds his life in an iron grip. Because his eyelids suddenly gain the weight of all his sins and close shut.

\---------

_ So he dreams: _

_ To the smell of his favorite confections, he jolts awake and finds himself in the middle of a candy store, behind the cashier with drool long crusted at the edge of his lip. _

_ “Good afternoon, Hisoka,” chimes that all-too-caring-way-too-good-for-this-world voice. _

_ “——Misha?”  _

_ Misha’s warm laughter occupies the space. “You have a little something on your lip. Here, a napkin. And some marshmallows, too.” He holds out some marshmallows to him. These must be ones that Misha tried to make himself, because why else would they be horridly uneven and burnt around the edges. They’re perfect.  _

_ And like the marshmallows, this dream must also be of Misha’s creation, because this can’t be his own headspace. It’s too nice, too beautiful here for this to be Hisoka’s mind. _

_ “Hm? You’re not taking them. Is something the matter?” There’s that concerned look on Misha’s face that he had worn when he first spotted Hisoka on the streets. _

_ He’s scared. He’s scared to accidentally brush his hand against Misha’s to take the marshmallows. Because with one touch, he feels he’ll taint Misha’s life once more and ruin this moment with him. _

_ “...I still have some of my own… they should still be in my pocket,” he answers instead.  _

_ Misha gives him a smile nonetheless. “Oh. Well, that’s fine. How is your life going, Hisoka?” _

_ “It’s a bit busy. But I’m going along with it.” _

_ “Ah… It’d be easier if you just forget about that parcel. ...I’m sorry for what has happened to you. I’m deeply sorry for doing something so selfish and causing trouble for you and Chikage.” _

_ “You don’t need to apologize, Misha. You—” he doesn’t want Misha to feel bad about himself. Hisoka is the only one here who has the right to hold the blame. “I’m sorry we had to sell your candy store.” _

_ “It’s okay, Hisoka. You know I will support anything you do. You did what you had to.” _

_ The gentle bell chime of a customer entering the store cuts their conversation short. As Misha turns away to greet them, Hisoka reaches out his hand as a desperate plea asking for him to not go, because I don’t know when’s the next time I can see you like this. See you alive and happy and smiling— _

_ The moment ends when a hoard of dark figures force their way into the small shop.  _

_ “Misha—!” Hisoka shouts over the sounds of metallic thunder, desperately climbing over the counter in an attempt to make it to him in time. _

_ But he falls into the ocean and everything goes deafeningly black. _

\----------

_ Click!  _

Blinking off the post-nap grogginess, he’s met with the blinding light of a sea of camera flashes. Better than the sea he just fell into. 

“—concludes the presentation. Thank you for joining us this evening,” closes the curator. 

Well. 

The crowd surrounding him disperses to wander around the exhibit hall, making it easier for Hisoka to scan the room to find someone with big muscles and a poor sense of fashion.  _ What is a poor sense of fashion…? _ Azuma has never looked down upon his pajamas, so finding someone without their pajamas on is a start. 

No one at this exhibit is wearing their pajamas. He’s back to square one. 

Walking around, he decides a good course of action would be to take pictures of the displayed paintings so he at least has something  _ to show _ Azuma, given that he doesn’t have anything to say about the presentation itself because he slept through its entirety. 

Abundances of people seem to be crowding each of the paintings. Judging it would be futile to try to take a picture over a dozen peoples’ heads, he walks a small distance before finally landing in front of a painting with only one other person looking at it.

He lifts his phone to snap a picture when—

“Aha!” exclaims a stranger with the dumbest hairstyle Hisoka has ever seen in his life. “Are you a connoisseur of the arts as well?”

_ A con of what. _

Hisoka doesn’t have time to gather the energy to reply because the man continues. “I rejoice at the number of those who understand the beauty of true art. The Melancholy of es happens to be one of my favorite paintings of Sakae. I always found myself wondering what he was thinking when creating this…” He gestures his hand over a particular part of the painting. “I mean, how can one not be entranced by such a breathtaking example of the alla prima technique? Why,  _ look _ at that streak! It must take  _ years _ of practice to get to this level of expertise. You have to work quickly, but to create a masterpiece like so… As you may already know, this technique is commonly found in the famous works of Van Gogh and Monet…”

No. He really didn’t know.

“However!” The man even has the gall to raise a pointer finger to the sky. “Look at the use of chiaroscuro right here. Sakae manages to dexterously use this method of contrast to illuminate the house and create a foreground with the trees... Sakae merged the techniques of the Impressionists with the techniques of those alive during the Renaissance!”   
  


He hasn’t even spoken a single word to this man yet. He has nothing to contribute to this conversation, not a single corn chip because he doesn’t know a damn thing about art. This conversation is stuffy. This  _ room _ is stuffy because a whole fucking crowd has already formed to listen to this guy’s speech. 

“You’re so loud,” Hisoka grimaces, and with his eyes, he gestures to his right where a bunch of other con-of-whats wait to hear more of this guy. 

The annoying stranger turns his head and—my god. His eyes sparkle.  _ Did his nose just disappear…? _

“It seems we have an audience!” he beams and claps his hands together. “The timing is perfect as well! For I have just been overcome with a surge of poetic inspiration!”

He then proceeds to step in the center of the ring of people and clears his throat. Hisoka studies his surroundings to find a way out. The people have barricaded all his exits.

“Rumbling… Tumbling… Fumbling… A mist over Niagara Falls! The birds hum, the spring calls! Border of two nations, waters as old as time... Together, they dine!” 

Hisoka stands dumbfoundedly as he watches the crowd go wild. Some people are wiping the tears forming at the corners of their eyes, while others have taken out their exhibit pamphlets to ask  _ Mr. Arisugawa, please sign, it would be such a great honor! _

Hisoka  _ continues _ to stand dumbfoundedly as people come up to him and ask: _ Would you please take my picture with the prized Mr. Arisugawa?  _

What the hell. 

\---------

The crowd, now satisfied after multiple autographs and photos, scatter about to continue their walks around the museum. Mr. Arisugawa takes this time to observe the orange sun setting through the museum’s window. 

“Ah, how fast the time goes,” he sighs dramatically as he turns to Hisoka with an apologetic smile. Honestly, Hisoka thought the man forgot about his existence these past ten minutes. “I apologize to cut our time short, but I regret to inform you that I am needed elsewhere...”

“Here,” Mr. Arisugawa says to him, holding out a red and gold card toward him— _ wait, is that actual gold foil—.  _ “My business card. I would love to discuss art once more with a good listener such as yourself.” 

With a very punchable smile and wave, Mr. Arisugawa makes his way toward the elevators. Hisoka looks down at the newly acquired, sparkling business card in hand:

_ ততততততততততততততততততততত _

**_HOMARE ARISUGAWA_ **

_ Poet - Art Connoisseur - Genius - Philosopher _

_ 555-0205 _

_ ততততততততততততততততততততত _

He… stashes the card away in his pocket. Not the pocket with his marshmallows. That’s his good pocket. 

The museum seems almost emptier now without the presence of Homare. Hisoka resolves to not dwell on this newfound empty feeling, and instead looks back at the painting he’s been in front of. 

The Melancholy of es? That’s what Homare called it?

Hisoka has never been the type to care to remember the small details, but after hearing someone talk on and on about it so passionately, he couldn’t help but care about the painting a  _ little. _ He holds his phone up to take a picture of the painting, making sure to include the information card displayed just below it. He doesn’t spare this same effort for all the paintings following. Their pictures end up blurry, out of frame, and nameless. 

By the time Hisoka made his round covering half of the exhibit hall, the sun had long set and the museum had long been vacated, with the closing time fast-approaching. Only artificial studio lights illuminate the marshmallow he holds in hand. It’s been a long day. Hisoka can have a marshmallow, as a treat. Partway through bringing one of his life’s few pleasures to his mouth, Hisoka is interrupted by the sound of heavy shoes against wood flooring.

“Food and drink aren’t allowed in the museum, Mikage.”

Eating is the  _ least _ of Hisoka’s crimes. He furrows his brows, makes direct eye contact with the man in front of him, and stuffs the marshmallow in his mouth. 

“...You don’t remember me,” the man monotones. “Tasuku. I was with you and Azuma at the ‘Journey of Life’ bar for New Year’s. You won the drinking contest after downing 17 shots of Vodka.”

He admits that definitely sounds like something he would do, and Tasuku continues in flat disbelief. “I carried you into the taxi after you passed out, and then carried you up 12 flights of stairs to Azuma’s penthouse because the elevator was broken.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Hisoka deadpanned. Then, remembering why he was put on the Tasuku-hunt in the first place, he adds, “Azuma says hi.”

Maybe the two of them are too used to other people carrying the conversations, because this one comes to an abrupt close. Hisoka doesn’t know where his relationship is supposed to stand with Tasuku, making it hard for him to judge what to say or how to act. 

It’s easy with his other relationships. With Azuma, he’s always seen himself as Azuma’s silent protector, offering him a warm body and gentle words when the time is right. With Tsumugi, he’s a friend who silently cheers him on from the sidelines, offering his reassurance whenever the tutor begins doubting himself. With Muku and the other kids, he’s the unreliable adult figure that they still choose to lean on for some strange reason. 

…and with Chikage, he’s allowed to be dependent. He’s allowed to be vulnerable. He doesn’t have to fill any role with him because he’s allowed Chikage to see all the facets of himself. And with the past year’s events, Chikage has learned to accept him as he is.

He stares, letting Tasuku make the first move instead. 

“Pass this to Azuma, if it’s not any trouble,” Tasuku says, handing Hisoka a plastic-wrapped manilla envelope he had been holding to his side. 

“It’s paperwork?”

“Something like that.” Tasuku lets himself think before adding, almost as an afterthought: “Don’t lose it and don’t fall asleep on your way.”

He turns his attention to the envelope in hand. He has enough evidence to gather whatever’s inside must be important, so he holds the envelope close. Almost like a pillow. “Is that all?”

“Yeah. The museum’s about to close,” Tasuku says looking towards the staff guiding visitors to the exits. “You should head out now. Take care of yourself, Mikage.”

“You too,” he turns on his heel to follow the flow of people.

He’s made miniscule progress when Tasuku calls out to him from a distance, “Wait, Mikage.”

Hisoka stops in his tracks, still looking forward. 

Tasuku continues nonetheless. “Azuma… he’s been well?”

That question takes Hisoka off-guard. Thinking back on his interactions with him today, he couldn’t recall anything that would warrant his partner as  _ not _ well. He’s learned from time, however, that these suspicions should be acted on as soon as possible, lest they eventually become worse. He makes a mental note to ask Azuma about how he’s feeling later. For real, this time. 

“Yeah. I think so.” And he proceeds to the elevators, readying himself for the walk back to his apartment. 

\----------

Hisoka has long been acquainted with the streets of Veludo City. He’s gotten to know its rooftops and air vents as well. He allows himself to go on autopilot, letting familiarities and traffic lights guide his way. 

At this time, the city lights have brightened the night, not allowing a single star to be seen in the sky. He’s surrounded with the hustle of workers commuting home, families cramming their ways into restaurants for a late dinner, and various individuals leaning into alleyways to puff out a day’s worth of stress. He could see himself joining that last group for the sake of coping with the tragic joke that is his life, but his body is already doing a bang-up job at failing him at every given opportunity. If not his brain, he should be able to at least count on his lungs to support the team, and he doesn’t want to risk fucking  _ that _ up.

Hisoka waits on the curb of an intersection, waiting for the light to turn red so he can cross. Feeling a vibration coming from his pocket, he adds one more artificial light to the scenery:

**Muku 7:01PM**

_ [ image attachment ] _

_ Good evening, Hisoka! I hope this message finds you at a good time;; _

_ Here’s the flyer for the school festival, the play is scheduled to start at 2:30! _

_ I hope to see you! _

**Muku 7:05PM**

_...But don’t feel pressured to come!!  _

_ It already means the world to me that you would consider watching!!! _

_ Please don’t feel like you’re obligated to come;;;;;;;;; _

**Hisoka 7:05PM**

_ Ur okay  _

_ I want to come _

_ [ image attachment ] _

_ Theres the cat from today _

**Muku 7:06PM**

_ Oh, okay!! That makes me very happy, I hope you have some fun tomorrow! _

_ Wahhhh, that cat is so cute! I hope I come across them as well! (*´꒳`*) _

_ By the way... I listened to that band you mentioned earlier... _

_ ‘One Day I’m Going to Prison’? _

_ It was really different from the music I usually listen to!  _

**Muku 7:07PM**

_...I mean that in a positive way of course!!! _

_ I’ve never listened to heavy metal before. It caught me off guard for a moment, but I like it! _

**Hisoka 7:07PM**

_ Ill recommend you some songs _

So he thumbs at his phone to message Muku a playlist of tunes that make his waking hours bearable. He’s already arrived at the front of the luxurious apartment complex by the time he hits send. 

Hisoka has never thought of this place as home. His heart has never been here, in this building that touches the sky. When he thinks of home, he’s grounded in the small, weather-worn house tucked away in nature, far from the prying eyes of citylife. 

The past year, that home’s number of occupants has gone from 3 to 2, 2 to 1, and finally remained steady at 2. Chikage insisted he still wanted to stay in that home, even if moving would greatly reduce the amount of time and cost of gas it would take to commute to his work. He’s in no place to judge Chikage for his life decisions per se _ ,  _ given the privileges he has now due to Azuma, but if anything, he wishes Chikage would buy more sustaining foods to eat. Like marshmallows. Because that’s so much better than the goddamn 5.49 Costco-sized bundle of chili peppers Chikage says is enough to last him a week. And like a heathen, he bites into them raw like they’re fucking apples. 

To Hisoka’s ( _ honestly, everyone’s)  _ surprise, Chikage supposedly acquired a housemate sometime after Hisoka moved out to live with Azuma. Hisoka has yet to meet them, but he gathers Chikage must hold them close to his heart if he has allowed them into the ruins of their life with Misha. 

Hisoka slips out the glossy card that is proof of his residency. It’s funny and ironic, really, that he has this card to bypass the security. The security that exists to keep thieves like him at bay. Ha. He steps into the unsuspecting building and takes the elevator to the top floor. 

Once he unlocks the door, he’s met with an empty apartment. Which is fine, this is what’s expected with the nature of Azuma’s job as a sleep therapist. There’s always been an unspoken agreement between him and his partner that Hisoka be the first to arrive at the penthouse whenever possible. 

He goes about his coming-home routine of throwing away a now empty bag of marshmallows. And— _ what the heck, _ fine. He won’t throw away Homare’s business card. It looks  _ and feels _ expensive anyway, so it may live to see another day. He goes into his bedroom to place the manilla envelope on the bedside table that neighbors Azuma’s side of the bed, then takes a cold shower to wash the day away. When that’s said and done, he changes back into his second skin: the silk pajamas. Then he crashes the fuck out, because he deserves it.

\---------

His slumber is disturbed when he feels the mattress dip next to him and the shifting of the bed covers over his shoulders. Easing one eye open, he’s met with this apartment’s true owner, who sits next to him on the bed. Azuma is a disturbance he welcomes. But maybe it’s selfish for Hisoka to refer to him as such when just how much he owes this man is put into perspective. 

“Sorry,” Azuma gently greets him. “Did I wake you?”

Hisoka pointedly ignores the question to say something more important. “Welcome back.”

His partner chuckles at this. He seems to do this each time, Hisoka realizes. And after what feels like a fleeting eternity, Azuma replies. “I’m back.”

The door to the balcony connected to their bedroom is open, letting the city air into their space. Really, the smell the air brings is far from lovely. What was expected to smell like the sweets of street vendors and rich opportunities to make it big actually smells a lot like weed with a hint of piss. 

But the smell of weed really doesn’t hold a candle to Azuma’s beauty. And maybe “beauty” is a too simple, too overused descriptor for what he has. Because, truly, Hisoka can’t think of any words. Ever. But in this case, there are no proper words to describe Azuma when the delicate blue light of the moon, framed perfectly through the glass frame of the door, highlights and contours all of his handsome features.

A single green eye meets the piercing gaze of two yellow ones until they both close shut to lean into each other. Hisoka takes this time to wrap his arms around Azuma’s neck to pull his body closer, all while Azuma takes the lead because god knows Azuma has  _ much _ more experience in these things than Hisoka. 

Their kisses are lazy yet purposeful, all done for the simple reason of wanting to relish in the presence of the other. Neither of them would have it any other way.

Hisoka reaches his hand to the back of Azuma’s head to loosen the ponytail until the long strands fall into a curtain around them, partially obscuring both their faces in shadow. Hisoka’s comforted by that, because he really doesn’t need the pool of saliva that had gathered at the corner of his lip to be seen when Azuma’s lips move to brush his neck. He moves his hand from his boyfriend’s neck to wipe at it, accidentally  _ bonking _ the head attached to said neck in the process. It killed the moment. 

Azuma doesn’t seem to mind. He smiles even, because he probably found it cute. Of course he did. “I was thinking of opening a bottle to have some midnight wine. Care to join?” 

“Sure.”

Hisoka heads to the balcony first while Azuma goes to fetch a bottle from an extra closet-turned-wine-cellar. They’re both heavy drinkers, so that one bottle turned into two. But Azuma stops them before they could open a third.

Azuma’s admiring the moon’s reflection in his glass of wine when he speaks up, initiating their first conversation since they entered the balcony. “With a full moon like this one, do you think Alice made a move again?”

Ah, Alice.  _ That cheeky fucker.  _

Alice is an infamous art thief who has been active for the past 2 years, one year before December began his string of heists. Because of this, Alice has a much larger presence in the minds of the city’s residents when compared to him. This detail wasn’t what bothered Hisoka, though. 

What bothered him was how Alice deliberately makes their presence and patterns known. Alice follows a strangely strict schedule: They will only act on the night of a full moon. So what’s annoying to both him  _ and _ Chikage is that Alice has never been caught. Even though he has a pattern for the police to follow. Even though he leaves a signature red rose and handwritten-fucking-poem at the site of each heist. When Hisoka was jumping out of the fifth floor of a building for the sake of leaving minimal traces, this guy was scattering  _ rose petals  _ to put up what was equivalent to a grandiose Las Vegas neon sign rapidly blinking to display the words:  _ I! WAS! HERE!  _

Could Alice also be under the orders of Seven? Hisoka has never entertained that possibility. He has too much of his own shit to deal with. So besides mild annoyance, he’s never been one to care about Alice, nor read their poems, which are usually broadcasted for all the world to see on TV. 

“...I think they’re romantic. The poems Alice leaves behind.” Azuma says fondly. “I’ll check the news.”

Hisoka doesn’t care about Alice, but he cares about Azuma. To humor his interest in Alice, Hisoka eases his way into his boyfriend’s space, laying his head on his shoulder to look at his phone screen. 

Lo and behold, Alice is at the top of all news sites. That was predictable, but what catches them off guard is the location of the heist. 

“The Pirmais Museum…? That’s the one you visited, is it not?” Azuma seems to find the situation almost amusing rather than concerning. 

“Yes…” Hisoka replies as he reaches a hand to scroll through the article displayed on the screen. His newfound interest is a surprise, even to himself, because he left the museum indifferent to all but one painting. He doesn’t care about it, personally, and he’ll probably never understand what it’s like to hold an object so dearly. But he feels sorry because he met someone who genuinely cares a lot about art and is passionate about it. He hopes that, if anything, it wasn’t  _ that  _ painting that was stolen. 

Every day, Hisoka gains new evidence that points to the theory that he’s actually cursed. 

“I saw the painting that was stolen,” Hisoka remarks. “I have a photo if you want to see it.”

Without waiting for a reply, he leaves Azuma’s shoulder to fetch the phone he left on the bed. 

“Here,” he says when he returns, handing the phone with the photo of The Melancholy of es on display.

“Well. That’s a lovely use of chiaroscuro.”  _ Is Hisoka the only one here that doesn’t know nor recognize any basic art techniques. _ “I never asked… how was the exhibit?”

Err. 

“I have other photos,” Hisoka replies instead.

\--------

The rest of the night is filled with mindless small talk, coming to an end only when drowsiness finally catches up to Azuma. They’re laying in bed when Azuma notices the new addition to his bedside table.

“What’s this?” he asks, pointing to the manilla envelope. 

Having just finished re-fluffing their pillows, Hisoka answers, “Tasuku gave it to me. He said it was for you.”

“Is it now?” he hums while picking at the plastic.

Azuma stops smiling when he opens the envelope and views its contents.  _ Someone fix this, please. _

It’s quickly dawning on Hisoka that he’s become too used to his partner being the put-together one in this relationship. Because he realizes he doesn’t know what he should do to comfort Azuma, who has finally let years’ worth of burdens, which he had been very good at burying, surface to his face. 

“Tasuku gave you this…? I didn’t think he would remember… I’ll be sure to thank him later.”

“What was in the envelope?”

“You can have a look, if you want.” Azuma smiles tiredly, apparently having regained his composure. “I think I’ll retire for the night now, though. I can tell you more about it in the morning if that is what you wish.”

Laying the papers on Hisoka’s side of the bed, Azuma rests his head down on his newly fluffed pillow and closes his eyes.

“Goodnight, Hisoka. I love you.”

This is the first time Hisoka was told those words. Right now, he doesn’t know they were meant as a simple lifeline thrown by Azuma out of desperation, in an attempt to cling himself to one of the few people who has consistently stayed by his side.

The light of the moon no longer touches their room. Maybe it was for the best that Hisoka could no longer see Azuma’s face, because the narcoleptic idiot doesn’t quite know what to say to it. 

He lacks experience in a lot of things, in romantic relationships especially. His partnership with Azuma started rather strangely, but he wants to think they made something nice out of it. One day, his nightmares became beyond unbearable, to the point where he saw dark figures chasing after him even in the daytime. When Chikage scheduled an appointment for him to see Azuma, a sleep therapist of some renown, Hisoka never thought that his relationship with him would veer into romance. 

In the end he chooses the best worst response: to remain silent.

_ Wait, Mikage. _

“Azuma, before you sleep,” Hisoka cuts in, “...Are you well?”

His eyes remain closed, but Azuma seems to genuinely put thought into the seemingly harmless question. Satisfied with the answer he has thought of, he opens his eyes to look up at Hisoka. 

“I’ve never been better.”

\--------

Hisoka doesn’t know what compels him to do so, but he remains awake to watch as Azuma falls into deep sleep. He turns back to the papers left on their bed, whose contents were powerful enough to loosen the grip his boyfriend has over himself.

_... A missing person file?  _

It’s probably illegal for them to have these papers if the  _ CLASSIFIED  _ in big, bold, italicized, underlined letters at the top are anything to go by. It’s possible, perhaps, that Azuma may be loosely involved with the criminal world. Because, usually, that’s the case for anyone with more money than they know what to do with. 

The papers detail the physical appearance, and  _ disappearance, _ of a Hajime Yukishiro. Hisoka always thought he and Azuma were quite different, but maybe they share  _ one _ commonality: they are both missing a loved one.

Wondering what became of the case, Hisoka flips through the file in search of this information. He finds what he’s looking for at the bottom of the stack, in addition to a new understanding of why Tasuku asked him if Azuma was well.

The case was closed years ago due to no leads. 

Putting the papers back into their envelope, he decides to sleep on it. He’ll let Azuma tell him the story whenever he’s ready. 

\--------

By some divine order that seems to always be against him, Hisoka’s phone vibrates just when he closes his eyes.

**Chicago 1:32AM**

_ I received another letter from Seven.  _

_ Let’s meet tomorrow morning to discuss the details. _

They always discuss Seven’s letters in person to reduce the risk of their conversations getting recorded on their phones. He mutters a silent apology to a deaf Azuma. 

**Hisoka 1:32AM**

_ Okay _

And to make one thing right today, he tabs to the  _ Notes _ application to draw a shitty picture.

**Hisoka 1:34AM**

_ [ image attachment ] _

_ This is an enclosure _

_ How do you find x _

**Chicago 1:34AM**

_ I’m not going to do that for you. _

**_Chicago is typing…_ **

**Chicago 1:40AM**

_ What are the dimensions provided. _

\--------

In the air

The moon is my salvation

These criminal acts, my liberation

A daring dance with Astaire

Where oh where?

ALICE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *unfurls a forbidden scroll that ive labeled authors notes. it’s one mile long*
> 
> Screams i swear hisohoma is endgame. that’s my promise to you. that’s my promise to ME. azuhiso nation i love u guys im sorry for everything i have done and will do to you. they unwillingly became the reflection of my past failed relationship aaAA. if you told past me that i was going to seek closure through 2 anime boys-,
> 
> HOMARE’S POEM HAS A MEANING. i had a whole paragraph explaining it But. this is hisoka’s pov. No Way would he know the niagara falls are waters from 2 nations that developed in entirely different centuries, joining together to create something beautiful. like how the techniques of the impressionists and renaissance artists developed in two entirely different eras but came together to create one painting
> 
> the encounter with tasuku acts as a turning point. it puts doubt on how hisoka’s perceived one of his relationships. 
> 
> next time: we have brunch with chicago, go to a school festival, and watch hisoka do real crimes.
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/caviluxx) can you believe my first fic is everything but azuhoma


End file.
